


Portrait Of An Impossible Girl

by ginger_timelady



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 18:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5258753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginger_timelady/pseuds/ginger_timelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a visit to a museum, the Doctor insists on proving to Clara that portrait painting is far from dead. Fortunately, he has an old friend who's a gifted artist...and intent on playing Cupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portrait Of An Impossible Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonicshambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicshambles/gifts).



"I must say," said Clara to the Doctor in an undertone, "I think that the art of portraiture in painting is pretty well dead and gone."

They stood in the Galleria degli Uffizi in Florence, looking at Titian's Venus of Urbino. Clara had requested a holiday, and the Doctor had agreed that yes, a holiday was a wonderful idea. She had originally suggested Paris, but he'd vetoed that notion. The last two times he'd brought a companion to Paris he'd gotten entangled in some very strange artistic adventures indeed - wonderful, to be sure, and far from regretted, but neither had been conducive to the idea of "holiday." Fortunately Clara had readily accepted 21st century Italy as a replacement. So here they were in the Uffizi - the Doctor wearing a smart black suit, Clara wearing a navy blue skirt and blazer with a pintucked white blouse and comfortable flats.

The Doctor looked at her, quirking an eyebrow. "That's not entirely the case," he said.

"Really, Doctor? Have you seen what passes for modern art on Earth lately?" she shot back. "Take a stroll through the Tate sometime."

"Ah, but you said, 'on Earth,' Clara," he replied. "As it happens, I know an excellent portrait artist. Not on Earth, but gifted nonetheless. Would you like to see some of his work?"

Clara cocked her head slightly. "Well - yes, of course! Now you have me curious!"

The Doctor laughed, and a gallery attendant shot him a dirty look.

"Back to the TARDIS, then!" he said, turning on his heel, and Clara followed.

****

"These are amazing," said Clara. Now they were in the TARDIS library, and looking at the three portraits hanging on the wall.

On the left, a young woman, seated. She wore a kind of 1920's flapper costume. Her hair was short and light brown, and her expression was a sardonic smile.

On the right, another young woman - girl, really. Also seated, she wore a modest, lacy gown. Her expression was serene, tinged with sadness, and her dark hair fountained up and around her face in massive curls.

In the center, a standing young man in a cream colored cricket outfit, with - oddity of oddities! - a stick of celery on the lapel of his jacket. His face was sensitive, framed by longish blond hair.

"Who are they?" asked Clara.

"Ah. On the left is Tegan. She was an Australian flight attendant. On the right, Nyssa. She was from the Empire of Traken."

"Traken?"

"A long story," said the Doctor.

"And the center portrait?" she asked.

"Ah. That was me," he said.

"Oh!" said Clara. "I see. And the artist?"

"Another long story," said the Doctor. Clara fell silent.

"Actually," said the Doctor, "you would look lovely on this wall."

Clara blushed. "Go on, Doctor."

"No, I mean it. I think we should have your portrait painted. I'm sure I can arrange something with the artist."

Clara laughed. "All right then."

The Doctor led her back to the console, and set the controls for Trion.

****

"So he was a soldier, and then a schoolboy, and then traveled with you, and then returned to his home and became a painter?" said Clara, as the TARDIS landed.

"Essentially," said the Doctor. "With many, many adventures in between schoolboy and returning to Trion."

"And at first he was trying to kill you?"

"Yes."

"And then became your close friend? You do go to extremes when picking companions, Doctor."

"Well, I hardly knew he was trying to kill me at first."

She laughed. "Here we are then."

They stepped out of the TARDIS in front of a low-built, rambling house. Immediately a man opened the front door. He was slender, with close-cropped ginger hair and a long, angular face.

"Doctor?" he said.

"Turlough," said the Doctor. And immediately the two men embraced and kissed each other on the cheek, European style.

"Doctor!" he said again. Then he turned his face to Clara. "And this lovely young lady?"

"Ah, yes," said the Doctor. "Vislor Turlough, meet Miss Clara Oswald."

Turlough smiled at Clara, who smiled back before she realized it.

"Call me Turlough," he said. "These days I'm actually better known by surname."

"Oh?" said the Doctor. "How's the painting coming along?"

"Quite well," he replied. "That's why I've become known better by surname."

"Yes, well, that is why we come to visit you here," said the Doctor. "Miss Oswald was bemoaning the death of portraiture on Earth, and I thought she would make a lovely subject for you."

Turlough stared at Clara, then. He had intense blue eyes, and she couldn't help but feel a bit nervous under that powerful gaze.

"Yes, she would. I tell you what: I'll gift you a portrait of Miss Oswald, as long as you permit me to make a copy for my own gallery."

"Well, Clara?" said the Doctor.

Clara blushed again. "If you really think I'd make a good subject, then I'd love it."

"Wonderful!" said Turlough. "You can stay with me for as long as it takes to get the portraits painted. We'll have a lovely time."

****

"So," said Turlough, "are you and the Doctor..."

"What a question!" said Clara.

She was sitting for the portrait, wearing a long red dress that Turlough swore brought out her dramatic coloring and dark eyes.

"I only ask because I can see the Doctor fancies you immensely," he said.

"Really?" she replied. "I'm not...I mean, at first I thought perhaps...and then...oh, damn. I don't even know."

"Do you fancy him?" asked Turlough.

Clara thought, turning the idea over and over in her head. What would it be like? She imagined his lean body, what it would be like to run her hands through his gray hair, how it would feel to fall asleep in his embrace.

"Yes," she said, finally. "I think so."

"Then do something about it, Clara. I can tell that he won't make the first move. You'll have to approach him."

"All right, then," she said.

****

That night Clara had retired early, pleading exhaustion. The Doctor had no reason to doubt it; sitting for portraits took a tiring combination of relaxation, so that muscles didn't lock up - and tension, so that one didn't fall asleep.

He opened the door to his bedroom. And was shocked.

"Close the door," said Clara.

She was lying on the bed, wearing a red silk chemise and nothing else. The Doctor opened his mouth, then shut it again. He shut the door behind him, and Clara sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Clara?" he said, in a half-whisper.

"Yes, Doctor?" she replied.

"Is - I mean what - I..."

"Doctor," she said, "I think you know that I love you."

He nodded.

"And that you love me."

Again, a nod.

"It's time, then," she said. "I - I mean - if you fancy me -"

The Doctor blinked, and made his way over to the edge of the bed.

"Clara," he breathed. "Clara, do you want this?"

"Yes, Doctor," she whispered. He bent down, and touched his lips to hers.

****

They stayed with Turlough another week. During the days Clara say for the portraits. The Doctor started joining them, entertaining Clara with stories of his adventures with Turlough. In the end, Turlough and the Doctor pronouced the portraits beautiful, and Clara admitted that portraiture was far from dead.

 

"It's funny, Clara," said the Doctor, as they entered the TARDIS after taking leave of Turlough. "Every time I take a companion to a museum, something extraordinary happens."  
"I'm not shocked," said Clara. "You're a very extraordinary kind of man."

He laughed. "Where to now?" he asked.

"You tell me," she rejoined.

"Well, I'm not sure," he said. "But as long as you're with me, Clara, it will always be extraordinary."

She smiled at him then, the same smile that now hung on the wall of his library.


End file.
